Taijitu
by Lomelindi
Summary: REVISED. AU. Years ago, fearing the power of Mundus, Sparda and Eva had separated the twins and had raised them apart. When Eva is killed, Dante suddenly finds himself reunited with a father he barely remembers and a stranger whom calls him brother.
1. The Loss

**Title: **Taijitu

**Author: **Lomelindi

**Summary: **(AU) Years ago, fearing the power of Mundus, Sparda and Eva had separated the twins and had raised them apart. When Eva is killed, Dante suddenly finds himself reunited with a father he barely remembers and a stranger whom calls him brother.

**NOTE: **(9/17/2011) – Almost four years after I started writing this fic (and then subsequently took a break from writing fanfiction altogether), I've decided to pick it up again because I am insanely attached to this plot bunny. I've rewritten and tweaked the first three chapters and I'm working on the forth.

Also, a HUGE thanks goes out to all the readers whom have enjoyed this fic so far. You guys are the reason why I'm even bothering to re-write such an old story to begin with~

* * *

**PROLOGUE**

They had been young then -just old enough to remember, but not old enough to remember very much.

Dante recalled the sensation of cold stone under his fingertips and the comforting warmth of his brother's body pressed up against his side. There had been raised voices from behind a thick door, and he had heard his mother's agitated voice bouncing off the walls of the chamber beyond. His father's responses had been calmer and too low to be clear, but Dante remember being surprised that they were fighting at all. His parents had always told him that they did not fight over trivial matters for there were far more important things in the world for them to worry about when a demon lord took on a human as his mate.

Above all else, Dante remembered being nervous. It had been late at night and he had known that he and her brother were supposed to be in bed. He silently worried about what their punishment would be in the morning, but he was much too proud to admit this to his twin. If Vergil knew, he would call him a coward, and Dante knew he was _anything_ but a coward.

His brother, always the faster of the two, had reached the massive doorway first. He was already listening with one ear pressed up against the door when Dante crept up and plastered his own ear against the thick wood between them. The younger boy was disappointed that he could barely make out any comprehensible words from the argument within, but Vergil was closer to the door crack and evidently heard more.

Dante had watched with fascination and growing confusion as all blood drained from his twin's face. Before he could ask, he felt Vergil snag his wrist and pull him abruptly away from the door.

Vergil never told him what it was that he heard, although Dante remembered that it had upset his brother greatly. The twins spent the rest of that night huddled in a ball in their bed, wrapped around each other for comfort and warmth. The desire to hold on to a twin for physical comfort was a primal demon instinct and one that seemed particularly strong that night. It was as if nothing in the world was more soothing than the feeling of their heartbeats beating against each other.

Dante hadn't dared to ask what was wrong. As much fun as it was to annoy Vergil, he could tell that his older twin was truly and deeply frightened, and that thought alone was enough to give him nightmares.

Dante's memories of the next morning were fragmented at best. He subsequently spent much of his life trying to erase it from his mind.

Glassy-eyed and unusually pale, their mother had woken them up that morning with a strange question. "If you had two very precious jewels," she had said, "and you wanted to hide them from this thief, what would you do?"

After a moment of confused consideration, Vergil answered that she should hide them in different places.

Their mother only looked at them with tears streaming down her face.

It took Dante many years to understand the full scope of the situation, but as a child, he could only comprehend one tragic, frightening fact: Vergil was leaving. In fact, Sparda was leaving _with_ Vergil, and they weren't coming back.

Mundus, as it turned out, had learned about the sons of Sparda despite their every precaution.

Fearing for their childrens' safety, Sparda and Eva had made the quick, painful decision to separate their family -Vergil with Sparda and Dante with Eva. It was their hope that with the twins separated and hidden beyond Mundus's reach, it would take longer for the prince of darkness to find them. If (and when) he did, Sparda and Eva could only hope that their sons would be old enough to fight alongside with them.

* * *

**TWELVE YEARS LATER**

He was hurt, badly. He didn't know exactly how large his wounds were, but he knew they went deeper than he would have liked. Worst of all, they weren't healing -either his healing powers had been exhausted entirely, or the wound had been poisoned by demonic toxins.

Dante cursed his own carelessness and hissed as he clutched his side, trying to slow the worst of the bleeding as he stumbled his way through the construction site. The rain was coming down in thick torrents now, reducing visibility to a few dozen feet and soaking him through to the bone.

_Cold_, he thought, his teeth beginning to chatter. It wasn't a sensation he felt often since his demon blood usually kept him immune from being affected by the weather. Oh yes, his wounds were definitely poisoned. He needed an antidote and fast, but he was so disorientated that he wasn't even sure which direction their apartment was anymore. First off, though, he had to find his mother.

"Mom?" he called, his voice cracking. The word was quickly lost in the roar of the storm. He raised his voice and tried again, louder this time. "MOM?"

No answer. Her scent was nowhere to be found, and the rain was making it difficult to see anything. Growing more anxious by the second, Dante picked up his speed, using Rebellion as a make-shift cane as he stumbled across the uneven ground. He didn't dare call for Eva again; the pack of wolf-like creatures they had encountered earlier was still out and about. He didn't know how many of them were left, but he didn't want to have to fight them again in this weakened state.

Then, suddenly, his nose picked up on the familiar scent of human blood. _Mom_! He hurried his way across a heap of rubble, fighting to follow the faint scent through the drenching storm.

It lead him to a dark alleyway a few streets down. There were telltale signs that the wolves had been there; their feces were scattered on the sidewalk, and there were streaks of dark blood smeared against the walls of the buildings. A few dead ones were riddled with bullet wounds and the stench of burnt demon flesh was everywhere.

_Mom did this_, Dante realized, unsure to be horrified or proud. His heart pounded in his ears as he took off in a dead sprint down the alleyway. _Please be okay. PLEASE be okay._

Suddenly, the puddles of demon blood gave away to splatters of bright red human blood. The sheer amount of it filled Dante with a paralyzing fear. Could a normal human lose that much blood and still survive? _He_ certainly didn't know.

_Maybe another human was with her,_ he thought, trying to keep calm despite a growing sense of desperation. _Maybe the wolves attacked some bystanders instead_. A part of him knew that his logic was flawed –it was much too late at night and much too rainy for any humans to be out and about at an abandoned construction site. Still, he clung to that tiny grain of hope. Maybe his mother wasn't here at all and she was standing elsewhere, waiting impatiently for him to find her so they could just go home.

His body screaming in protest with every step, the young hunter slowed and leaned heavily on Rebellion as he staggered a few more steps down the alleyway. He could feel cold dread clenching at his throat. Something wasn't... right. It had never taken him this long to find his mother after a battle before.

_THERE_! His heart jumped up to this throat as he caught a flash of gold hair in the shadows of a dumpster. He stumbled toward it. "Mom? _Mom?"_ His voice cracked painfully, his throat so tight he could barely breathe. The coppery scent of human blood was overwhelming now. _Pull yourself together_, he told himself desperately as he patted around her jacket for a patch of bare skin, _Maybe she's only got knocked out and we laugh this off as a bad day_. _Fuck it, a REALLY bad day._

Dante's trembling fingers touched cold flesh, and the sensation ripped an cry from his lips. _No. It _can't_ be._"No. Nononono. WAKE UP! Mom!"

He gripped Eva hard by the shoulders and pulled her limp body into his lap, shaking her with all the strength he had left. Her head lolled limply against his arm and her closed eyes didn't stir. Her wet hair clung to her skin in clumps, and Dante noticed just how _pale_ she was. _Blood,_ he realized dimly, _She's lost so much blood... _Her body had deep, crimson gashes down her sides, most likely wounds sustained from a wolf's claws. The demon's paws had ripped straight through her jacket and one could even see parts of her exposed ribs underneath.

Dante knew immediately that he was looking at a fatal wound, but part of his mind refused to believe it. "Mom! WAKE UP! _MOM_!" He was sobbing now, screaming, not even caring that there were still demons on the prowl.

His own wounds were suddenly forgotten as he tried desperately to close hers, working at her torn torso with shaking fingers until his gloves were soaked with blood and he could hard see over the rainwater that poured over his forehead. Even so, his mother remained silent and unmoving in his lap.

Cursing loudly, Dante jammed his hands into his pockets and tossed out all the orbs he could find. He grabbed the first yellow one he saw and pressed it against Eva's skin. There was no reaction, not even the faintest hint of a glow. _She's gone_, a part of his mind reminded him, _The orb won't work, she has no pulse. You can't bring her back._

Dante buried his face in Eva's neck and screamed for all that he was worth. He screamed until he was hoarse and weak and shaking, but even then he continued to sob against her body, willing her to come back by his own sheer strength.

Over the distant roar of the rain, he suddenly heard low, guttural howls answer his own cries. One by one, dark, four-legged demons began to pour into the alleyway, their red eyes glowing through the sheets of rain. The damp air was soon filled with their foul stench and the sound of padded paws slapping against rain puddles.

The wolves had returned, and they wanted the rightful ownership of their kill.

Dante was dying inside. The hunter part of him screamed for vengeance, but another part of him simply didn't care anymore. What was the point of continuing to fight when all he cared about and all that he fought to protect was now dead in his arms?

The teen lifted his face and glanced wearily at the pack of incoming wolves, his eyes dark and dull with pain. _Do what you will,_ he thought, _I'd rather be with her than with you sons of bitches_.

The wolves leapt on him without hesitation. Larger than mortal wolves and much heavier, they sent him flying into the wall as they ripped at his flesh with massive fangs and claws. Dante struggled instinctively and fought back with his bare hands, but in his weakened state, it wasn't much of a battle. His vision was already fading, and he could no longer feel the extremities of his limbs. The toxin that was quickly building up in his blood rendered his healing abilities totally useless, and despite his demonid strength, he knew he wasn't going to last long.

He didn't _want_ to last long.

Nothing meant more to him now than to protect his mother's body in the last moments of his life, which he tried to do by throwing himself over it. The wolves were perfectly happy with that and tore eagerly into his back, ripping his red coat into shreds and drawing involuntary cries of pain from the fallen hunter beneath them as their fangs stabbed into his skin.

Then, suddenly, two new roars rang clear over the frenzy. The sounds were deep, radiant, and terrifying beyond words, but to Dante's ears, they sounded strangely beautiful. He gasped instinctively for breath as the weight of many wolves was lifted off of him, their bodies thrown against the walls or into the air. The strange roars came again, closer this time and so loud that they rattled Dante's teeth.

_Gone...They're all gone_, the hunter realized with surprise, hardly conscious but still relieved. His fading vision picked up on one large, hulking form giving chase to the fleeing demons, but he couldn't get his brain to function enough to ponder about its shape.

Then, a pair of blue-skinned talons stepped into his line of vision. A brilliant glow cascaded over them and replaced them, oddly enough, with a pair of tan boots.

_What is that, transformation? Shape-shifting?_ Dante half-hearted tried to remember the correct term for it but found that his befuddled mind could hardly remember his own name.

"Dante! Dante, wake up!" Hands -_human_ hands- were unexpectedly pulling at him, pushing him against the wall and forcing him into an painful, upright position.

Every muscle and fiber in Dante's body screamed at the movement, but he couldn't bring himself to fight back with more than a weak groan. A face floated slowly into his vision, the face of a pale young man with slicked-back white hair and piercing blue eyes.

Through supreme effort, Dante gathered enough energy to give a dry, delirious laugh. "Give me... my... face... you bastard," he croaked, his voice so hoarse and weak that it was almost lost over the sound of the rain.

The face frowned at him and shook him repeatedly. Its lips moved for a minute or so before Dante registered that it was speaking. "Dante!" The voice was distant and muffled, as if he was hearing it from underwater. "_Dante_, stay with me! Look at me!"

_I'm TRYING_, Dante wanted to say, but he could feel his strength ebbing fast. There was sudden, comforting warmth as he felt himself being encased in strong arms and being pressed against a leather-clad shoulder. It felt... nice, really. A bit like Eva, although this man's shoulder wasn't nearly as comfortable.

"Father!" the voice was yelling above him, growing fainter by the second. "Father, he's fading!"

_Father? That's nice_, Dante thought, _I don't remember my father_. That was his last thought before darkness claimed him.

* * *

**AN**: Reviews and suggestions are always appreciated. Thanks for reading!


	2. The Reunion

**AN**: Thank you for all the kind reviews, everyone!

A few questions came up about the setting, so I guess I need to clarify. Yes, Vergil and Dante are of DMC3 age, which is... I think... 18 years of age(?). Sparda is at least a few thousand years old, and I'm guessing Eva is somewhere in her 40's.

As for the twins, since they didn't actually grow up together in this story, they don't know what pisses the other off... _yet_. On the other hand, yes, Vergil is _not_ a murderous psychopath in this story. Would Sparda raise him that way? I think not. Dante... Well, Dante's pretty much Dante. :p He's the easiest character to write about.

* * *

**CHAPTER TWO**

Dante jolted awake with the sudden urge to puke. A pair of strong hands grabbed him just in time and turned him over the edge of the bed, allowing him to heave into an awaiting bucket.

"Let it out," a voice said quietly, "The poison is still running its course."

"I don't need HELP!" Dante shoved the unfamiliar hands away and struggled painfully back into bed. Bewildered, he patted himself and suddenly discovered that he was as naked as the day he was born, dressed in nothing but his mother's amulet and fresh bandages he could not remember applying himself. His bed was in a modest chamber with sandy stone walls and torches at every corner of the room -underground, perhaps? A castle?

_Shit_, Dante thought, _The last time I was in one of these, I was being jumped on by spiders._

The other occupant of the room, however, was decidedly _not_ a spider.

Tall, strong and human in form, he had Dante's face and everything on it, from his eyes to his lips to the tall bridge of his nose. His skin, however, was paler and his limbs marginally leaner, probably due to a very different diet and lifestyle than the sun-soaked city Dante had lived in. Instead of letting his white hair hang in front of his eyes, the newcomer had slicked them back in a loose sweep that brought out the stern angle of his eyebrows and the noticeable furrow between them. His eyes, so much like Dante's own and yet inexplicably _different_, flashed a steely, silvery-blue from under dark lashes. The strange glow within them reminded Dante of the radiant shine that demon eyes had in the dark, but he had never seen it on someone as humanoid as the person beside him.

The hunter's own pupils dilated with disbelief. "You're not real," he croaked after a long moment of silence.

His companion didn't bat an eyelash. Instead, he merely cocked his head and raised an elegant eyebrow. "If I said yes, will you lie back down?" His voice was unmistakably like Dante's but was pitched at a slightly different timbre, like an imperfect match.

Dante obeyed on reflex, but all the color had drained from his face. He could see a large red amulet hanging from the other man's neck -the very same that hung from his own.

"_Vergil_?" he croaked, working his tongue around a name that felt unfamiliar after all these years, "Shit, is that you?"

This time he rewarded with a small smile. "Ah, I see you remembered. We feared that you had damaged your head in the fight with the wolves." That said, Vergil stood, went to the door, and called for a servant to alert Sparda.

_Since when did he have servants? _Dante wondered numbly. _And what the hell is he wearing?_ He couldn't remember the last time he saw someone wear a vest or a fluffy cravat like that, though he had to admire the fact that the pants were sewn from some slain demon's skin.

Catching on to Vergil's last words, he stiffened. "_We_?"

"Of course. Father and I." Vergil raised his other eyebrow as he came back to Dante's side, sliding elegantly back into the plush chair by the bed. "You _do_ remember Father, don't you?"

Hurt by Vergil's tone, Dante scowled and brushed aside the question. "The fuck, man. I just… didn't… You _know_. I-I didn't think I'd see you two again." He swallowed. "Ever."

There was an awkward pause.

Vergil's face was placid, but there was a visible droop in his shoulders. "You weren't supposed to," he answered quietly, "Father sensed danger and we came to help, but... the wolves got there before we did." He trailed off.

Dante felt hot new tears well up in his eyes before his brother even stopped talking. Of course. _Now_ he remembered. That was why he was here, why he was weak and sick and feeling like the world had just ran him over. He closed his eyes and swallowed harshly against the bitter taste in his mouth. "Why didn't you come earlier, huh?" he whispered, his voice tight but rising, "Why the FUCK didn't you get there earlier?"

Vergil's pupils dilated and his eyes flashed with icy frigidness. "Mother and Father are mated for life. We had no warning except for the fact that he sensed her death," he explained in a deathly calm tone, "We didn't come to save _her_, Dante, we came to save _you_. Not even Father could be fast enough to save her."

* * *

Even in death, Eva was beautiful.

Sparda marveled at how kind the years had been to her. Although aging had been an unfamiliar concept to him long ago, he was used to seeing generations of humans waste away and die before his eyes.

Eva's body showed signs of wear, but not nearly as many as he expected. Her limbs were strong and toned from years of battle, but she remained impressively curvy despite giving birth decades ago. _Childbearing hips_, Sparda thought fondly, remembering when that flat abdomen had been swollen with his children. His wife's face was bare but elegant, with only the faintest signs of wrinkles around her once radiant eyes. Her long, luxurious hair was still a brilliant gold, with only a few strands of grey hair mixed in with the blond ones. Running a hand through the thick locks, Sparda wondered dimly how his sons might've looked if they had inherited their mother's hair. _Magnificent, maybe. Definitely more human_.

He knew Eva would've been horrified by his train of thought. "I don't care what they look like," she had told Sparda shortly after giving birth, "They're _ours_ and that's all that matters." She had smiled then, her eyes full of delight despite her weariness. "Besides, they'll be dashing with white hair. They'll thank you in the future."

The memory pained him. Eva had been his mate, his constant companion, the mother of his children, and a brave human whom defied all logic when she chose to be with him_. _His kind had slaughtered her people since the dawn of time, and yet she _loved_ him, stayed with him, and bore him sons.

He could not have asked for a better mate, and yet… he had failed her. When she needed him the most, he wasn't there.

The demon's breathing was ragged as he dragged one long, gloved fingertip over the elegant curve of her cheek. How long as it been since he last touched her? A decade was a blink of an eye for a demon as old as he, but he could hardly imagine how unbearably long it must have felt for her. For their sons.

The demon couldn't cry, of course, but that didn't mean he didn't mourn her loss. Turmoil stirred in his belly like liquid lava. His senses tingled with the overwhelming urge to _kill_ something, to destroy the demons that took her from him by ripping them to shreds with his own claws. Had he been in his true form, he would have taken his pain out on anything nearby, on the flimsy human furniture that he had laid so carefully against every wall.

But Eva didn't deserve that sort of mourning. She deserved quiet, serene grief, the kind humans would have given her if she hadn't already been married to a demon. It didn't feel... _right_ to touch her body with claws and fangs that were so different from her own. The least Sparda could do was give her one last caress by human fingers, one last kiss by a human mouth.

* * *

"You _bastards!" _In an fit of blind rage, Dante lunged toward Vergil, his outstretched hands trying to secure themselves around the other's collar. Unfortunately, his plan didn't go quite as planned. The bed gave way to nothingness and he flopped gracelessly on the floor, moaning from the sudden pain that ravaged his body.

Vergil was out of the chair and beside him in an instant. "_Foolish_," he scolded, his hands remarkably gentle as he pulled Dante up and checked to see that his bandages haven't come undone. He quickly heaved his sibling back into bed and tucked the sheets firmly around him -the gesture was more commanding than affectionate. "Don't strain yourself," he scoffed, "I don't want to have to bandage you again. You've already lost more blood than you should have."

Dante was dizzy and bewildered. He had just tried to attack his own brother -wasn't Vergil the least bit angry?

His twin seemed to have sensed the question and fixed him with an unamused stare. "I don't fight people who are ill," he snorted dismissively, "You can throw all the temper tantrums you want, but you'll heal faster if you don't. Understood?"

When he didn't get an answer, he gripped Dante's chin in a surprising tight hold, forcing their eyes to meet. "Do you _understand_, Dante?" Though not angry, his tone was unquestionably stern.

"I'm not a _child_," Dante snapped, fighting against the hold on reflex.

"So don't act like one," Vergil replied just as quickly.

Wills clashed briefly between them but Dante didn't have the strength to hold it up. Defeated, he shifted his eyes to a point over Vergil's shoulder and was rewarded by his twin removing his hold on his face.

"Will I be able to see her... her body at least?" the younger twin mumbled, his voice cracking around the words. He suddenly seemed dull, lifeless, and as pale as he had been when they first found him. Those damned tears were back again and swam across his vision, brimming at the edges of Dante's eyes despite his every effort to hide them.

Vergil hesitated; the sight of tears made him terribly uncomfortable. How long had it been since he himself cried? He couldn't even remember the last time. Ever since he was a child, he had spent most of his life surrounded by beings that incapable of producing tears. Sparda himself had told him that "devils don't cry." Yet here Dante was, sobbing softly for a mother whom Vergil barely remembered.

The sight was so... _human_.

Disconcerted, Vergil paused for a moment longer before placing a hand on Dante's shoulder in an awkward but genuine attempt to stop his tears. "I will take you myself." He paused. "Later."

* * *

The wraith slid up to Sparda with silent, ghostly steps. "_The Young Master says that the boy has awakened_," it whispered in the demon tongue, its faint voice hardly more than a frigid breath of air.

For the first time in hours, Sparda tore his eyes away from the prone body of his wife and fixed his servant with a tired, dull stare. "_I will be there shortly_," he responded in kind, his human voice strangely warped around the harsh syllables.

"_Yes, Master_."

* * *

Vergil prided himself on his keen senses, but if there was one thing he could never hear, it would be his father's footsteps. Millennia of running away from Mundus had made Sparda a master of stealth -unless he wanted to be caught, any hint of the demon lord was near impossible to find.

The creaking door was the only warning Vergil got.

"Father," he said in greeting, instantly standing from his chair.

Sparda looked tired, but his son wasn't sure if that was an illusion of his human morph or something else entirely. "How is he?" he asked, motioning for Vergil to sit again as he made himself comfortable at the edge of the bed. He rested a hand on Dante's head and relaxed marginally at the touch, as if relieved that the boy would not disappear under his fingertips.

"He was awake for a few minutes," Vergil reported, "Then he... cried himself to sleep."

Sparda sensed the hesitation in the other's tone and looked up at him with an unreadable gaze. "Let him cry. It's good for him."

Vergil looked away. "I did."

Picking up on the sign of discomfort, Sparda shifted his eyes back to his younger son and decided not to press it. They were all mourning, he knew, but it would be some time before Vergil realized that he was, too. _He still as so much to learn about the matters of the heart_, the demon sighed sadly to himself.

Vergil always took it upon himself to be as demonic and powerful as possible, to make his father proud -Sparda _was_ proud, but he also knew that some part of his son had been buried away in the process and he was at a loss of how to bring it back. Humanity had always been Eva's department, not his. Using every tactic he knew, Sparda had tried his best to get Vergil to interact regularly with the villagers nearby, but for the most part his son remained solemn and unapproachable. Even the occasional demon hunters they met treaded around Vergil as if he was a dangerous and untamable animal. Vergil didn't seem to mind and was happiest when he was left alone, but Sparda knew that the boy's human side would have problems developing without the influence of others his own age.

"Poor child," he sighed, making it uncertain which son he was referring to. He absently stroked the top of Dante's head. "How many gold orbs did it take to stem the bleeding?"

"Fifteen," Vergil snorted with an arched eyebrow. "Did you know it would take that many? What on earth was he living on?"

"Pizza, probably," Sparda guessed with a faint smile. At Vergil's baffled silence, he added, "Your mother loved it, too."

At the mention of Eva, Vergil's eyes shifted uncomfortably. It was a tiny motion, but Sparda's sense missed nothing.

"You haven't seen her yet," he stated, not in a harsh way.

Vergil flinched nonetheless. "I haven't had time," he answered carefully, "Dante..."

"He's sleeping now. I'll watch him for now; you can go if you wish."

Vergil hesitated but took the hint. "Yes, Father."

* * *

Sparda made a mental note to check on Vergil after an hour or so, though not before he memorized every pore and scent on Dante's body. His demon senses tingled with joy as he laid his forehead against his son's and breathed in every little hint of the boy's life that he had missed over the years. Contrary to humans, demons recognized each other primarily by scent; this way, individuals of one species could look remarkably different but still relate to each other in pitch-blackness, a helpful ability when your home was Hell.

On a primal level, Dante smelled (unsurprisingly) like Vergil, but the elder twin also smelled of stone and wind, whereas the younger smelled… well, like smoke. He smelled of the city that he came from, of all the pizza and french fries and the other tasty foods that he liked to indulge on. Most of all, the scent of his mother still lingered on his skin, as if she never stopped smothering him with kisses and hugs up until she died.

The thought brought a fresh stab of pain to Sparda's insides, but having Dante there lessened the sharpness of his grief. In losing his mate, he had gained another son. It was a cruel but fair trade.

Leaving Dante to his well-deserved sleep (provided the wraiths would alert him the moment the boy awakened), the demon lord crept quietly through his castle and back to the icy room that had been set up as Eva's mausoleum. He expected to see Vergil gone and off doing some other business, but he was pleasantly surprised to find his eldest son kneeling, motionless, beside the marble tomb that had become his mother's final resting place.

_Brooding again_, Sparda thought fondly. Vergil had always been an insufferable brooder. Even as a toddler, his parents often caught him staring off into space, pondering about some great wonder of the world while Dante ran around in circles in the background.

"Are you well, my son?" the demon asked softly, seeing the familiar jump in his son's shoulders from his sneaking up.

Vergil turned in surprise and instantly stood. "I thought-"

"Dante's a grown boy, he'll be fine." Sparda's eyes twinkled as he motioned for Vergil to stay. "If you're that worried, you could go check on him yourself."

Vergil wrinkled his nose as if the idea of 'worrying' was entirely unfamiliar to him. He turned back to his mother and heaved a soft but audible sigh. "She really is as beautiful as you said she was."

"That she is." Sparda raised an eyebrow and stepped up close. "You honestly can't remember her?" His shoulders drooped with pity. Not for the first time, he wondered how much happier Vergil would have been if they had simply stayed as one happy family.

Vergil shook his head after a moment of hesitation. "I've... dreamt of her. Singing." _Dante, too_, he added silently, though he often mistook the other's voice for a faulty version of his own.

"Ah." Sparda studied Eva's face intently. "No wonder. She always sang to you more."

Vergil started. "What? Why?"

The edge of Sparda's lips curled. "Dante always fell asleep first, that's why. You... were fussier. You'd never fall asleep until she finished an entire song, and even so she'd have to invent up a few more verses to make you happy."

The stricken look in Vergil's eyes was heartbreaking. He took a shaky breath and rested his fingers against the edge of the tomb, just short of touching his mother's skin. "Why are humans so weak?" he breathed, as if it was Eva's fault that she didn't survive.

"Not weak," Sparda corrected gently, "Short-lived. There's a large difference where your mother is concerned."

Vergil opened his lips as if to say something, then hung his head and remained silent.

Sparda watched him carefully before he rested a hand on his son's shoulder and squeezed it gently. "We all miss her," he said, just so Vergil wouldn't have to say it.

* * *

**AN**: Not the most exciting of chapters, but I had fun writing it nonetheless. XD I'm still having a hard time defining Sparda's personality, but I THINK I've fallen into a nice niche for how I'm going to write Vergil. As for Dante's sudden rages... I contemplated dropping them, but I think it's a good display of how human he really is. We all lash out to the nearest person/friend/stranger when we're upset about something else entirely.


	3. The First Battle

**AN**: Thank you all SO much for the reviews! I'm glad everyone likes the story so far, I'll try my best to keep up with expectations. Sorry for the delay for this chapter, college kicked my butt. D:

* * *

**CHAPTER THREE**

Needless to say, their first night together as a reunited family was not a particularly happy one. Dante was the only one who slept well. Preferring to grieve alone, Sparda had locked himself in Eva's mausoleum and spent the rest of the night there with only a candle by his side. Many levels above, Vergil still laid awake in his bed, shifting his body aimlessly and staring at the ceiling with eyes that seemed more demon than man.

It was strange, really. He supposed he should be... _happy_ to have his brother back, but the pain of losing their mother and the trauma of saving Dante from the brink of death more than nullified his excitement. He felt... confused now, neither sad nor joyful. Was the companionship of a brother worth the warmth of a mother? Was he really in need of either when he spent most of his life with neither?

Vergil suddenly sat up in bed. Something tingled in the back of his mind, an instinctive connection that that felt both foreign and familiar at the same time. Icy grief suddenly twisted in his gut, and it took him a minute to realize that the feeling wasn't his. At least, not entirely._ Dante_!

Acting on reflex, the youth kicked off his covers and sprinted down the dim hallway until he reached Dante's door. The protective spells Sparda had placed upon the wood yielded instantly to their creator's son, and Vergil pushed through the open doorway with less grace than he would've liked.

His brother was, for lack of a better word, _flailing_ in bed. The silk covers and pillows that had been tucked so carefully around him were now strewn about in a massive, chaotic mess. If the bed hadn't been enchanted, Vergil would have worried about it snapping in half by now.

_He's dreaming_, the older twin realized instantly. "Dante!" Vergil approached the bed with rigid caution. He had incredibly fast reflexes, but even he had a hard time catching the other's flailing limbs. He missed his first grab and almost got smacked in the head. "_DANTE_!"

A barrage of strange noises was coming from his brother's throat as the hunter whimpered, growled and cried out into the air. He seemed to be struggling desperately against and for something at the same time, and the only coherent word out of his mouth was "Mom".

Vergil swallowed against the sudden dryness in his throat. _He must be dreaming of her last battle_, he thought numbly as he finally caught one of Dante's thrashing hands.

Even in sleep, his brother fought against his hold and Vergil quickly leaned his weight into the hunter's chest to keep him from moving. "Dante! Wake up!" he hissed, trying not to damage the other's bandages, "You're _dreaming_!"

The other's body gave a violent jerk underneath him and Vergil knew then that his voice had broken through. Eyes as blue as his own suddenly blinked open at him with wild and drowsy confusion.

"Ver...?"

Vergil was momentarily speechless. He hadn't been called by that nickname in years. "It's me," he confirmed after a minute pause. Feeling awkward, he shifted himself off his brother's body and absently fixed the collar of his pajamas. "You were dreaming," he added after Dante continued to stare at him. When he got no response, he sighed and got up to leave.

"_Stay_." The desperate, broken voice that called out to him sounded nothing like the hunter that had tried to attack him just hours ago.

Vergil spun slowly on his bare heels. For a second, he wondered if Dante was truly awake, then decided that it didn't matter. Staying certainly couldn't _hurt_, and its not like he was going to get much sleep tonight anyways. _It's only because I have nothing else to do_, he told himself firmly. Silently, the older twin sat back down on the bed with stiff, awkward movements. Powerful fingers darted out and clung to his sleeve for dear life, as if the one holding on to him was afraid he would simply walk away and vanish.

"Stay," Dante whispered again, the drowsiness in his tone making Vergil seriously doubt he had ever awoken in the first place.

His older brother sighed and set his free hand on his twin's head. "Go to sleep, Dante," he whispered, resigning himself to a long night. "I'm not going anywhere."

* * *

The wraiths were hard creatures to surprise, but surprised they were when Sparda's true form suddenly barged out of the mausoleum and soared through the castle like Mundus himself was his tail. Using powers that would've rendered Vergil speechless with awe, the ancient demon phased through the last wall in his path and melted into the darkness of Dante's room, desperate to answer the primal call to protect his nestlings.

It took him a split second to realize that there _was_ no danger. Dante was still and quiet now, the worst of his nightmares having already passed. Vergil was, oddly enough, curled up at one end of the bed, one arm caught in his brother's death grip and the other wrapped gingerly around his own knees. He seemed extremely uncomfortable about being there but was, perhaps, too polite to pull away.

No, that wasn't it. Vergil was rarely polite. He was curt and well-mannered at best, but rarely gracious to anyone but his own father.

Sparda would have blinked if he had eyelids. This was... unexpected, though certainly not unwelcome.

Smiling to himself, he silently merged into the shadows around him, content with watching his children from afar without notifying them of his presence. Vergil glanced up briefly and searched the room with keen, glowing eyes, but even his sharp senses couldn't detect the demon lord's presence.

_My apologies for intruding_, Sparda chuckled to himself, _It seems like my interference is not needed here._ With a breath of air, he was gone again, making his way deep into the bowels of the castle with stealth that would have made the wraiths proud.

* * *

Since demons rarely slept, half-demons were only light sleepers at best. Unsurprisingly, when Dante pulled out of the coma-like state that had been induced by a combination of exhaustion, emotional trauma and Vergil's orbs, he felt as if the entire world had simply partied away on his forehead. He peeked open his eyes and instantly shut them when bright firelight flooded his vision. Once he felt like he wasn't going to puke, the hunter dared to open them again and tried desperately to focus his swimming vision on the shadowy forms beside him.

A white-haired, purple-coated figure drifted into view, and for a second, Dante thought his brother had simply tossed on another strange, outdated outfit. He quickly realized his mistake.

"...Dad?" The word was strange and foreign on his tongue, but the sound of it made the figure's face break into a handsome, serene smile. _Holy shit. He hasn't aged a _day_. _Not that Dante expected him to, but it was always baffling to be confronted with proof that his father was not human by any stretch of the word.

"How do you feel, son?" That _voice_... Dante faintly remembered being terrified of how that voice could go from smooth and elegant to loud and booming in much less time than it took for a child to hide a weapon he wasn't supposed to play with. Not that he would know, of course.

Working his lips around his suddenly speechless mouth, the young hunter gave a tiny, albeit weak, shrug. "Like shit," he answered honestly, and was rewarded by a deep chuckle from the demon lord.

"Eva raised you well," he said quietly, "I knew no son of mine would have gone down that easily."

Dante felt his throat tighten. Despite being a demon hiding behind a human form, Sparda could be surprisingly expressive, especially with those deep, sapphire eyes of his. The affection in his gaze made Dante want to curl up like a child. _Dad_..._DAD_. A part of him had always cursed Sparda for leaving, but another part took great comfort in knowing that his powerful father was still out there somewhere, making the world a little safer for the children who still had nightmares about the monsters under their beds. Seeing absolute, definitive proof that his father was alive momentarily robbed Dante of coherent thoughts.

"...You were worried," he blurted out. _You didn't forget me._

Sparda's eyes softened. "Yes. Terribly," he answered with just as much honesty, "Every day of every year."

Vergil appeared from behind his father and approached Dante with a wrapped bundle in his arms. The younger twin's eyes lit up once he caught sight of Rebellion's unmistakable handle sticking out from the end.

"We cleaned it for you," Sparda said with a twinkle in his eyes. "On the other hand, Ebony and Ivory were spotless -you must have taken good care of them." He had left many of his favorite weapons with Eva the night of their departure; Ebony, Ivory and Rebellion would go to Dante on his thirteenth birthday, while Luce and Umbra would stay in Eva's care. It was unquestionable that the woman would need all the help she could get to keep a son of Sparda safe and hidden.

_The guns weren't enough_, a small part of Sparda reminded him, making him inwardly wince with guilt. Outwardly, he managed a small smile as he watched Dante prop himself up on his elbows and snatch his weapons from Vergil's arms, obviously eager to see for himself if they were alright.

Rebellion, Ebony and Ivory tumbled out first, as shiny as they had been on the day that Dante first got them. Cracking a smile for the first time in days, the hunter reached again into the bundle and pulled out his newly repaired clothes. All the rips and tears from the fight with the wolves were now strangely gone, replaced by a powerful glow of magic that coursed through the fibers of his pants and through the leather of his coat. He lifted his eyebrows at Sparda and Vergil, the former of which smiled gently at him and the latter of which seemed bored by the whole ordeal.

Surprised that there was still more in the package, Dante reached in again and suddenly paled. His shaking fingers pulled out the cold and heavy forms of Luce and Umbra. He stared at them with wide, uncertain eyes, turning them over and over again to make sure they were, indeed, his mother's guns.

"They're yours now, if you want them," Sparda explained quietly, "I gave up my possession of them a long time ago."

Dante's hands curled around the hilt of the guns until his knuckles were white as bone. He wasn't crying, per se, but even Vergil could sense that he was close. "...I want to see her," he said quietly, the tone of his voice making no room for arguments.

Sparda opened his mouth to argue -Dante was far from ready, physically or mentally- but his elder son made the decision for him.

Vergil squared his shoulders and stepped up. "Come. We'll take you."

* * *

Properly dressed but still limping, Dante leaned heavily on Vergil as they made their way deep into the heart of the castle. Neither twin spoke a word as they followed Sparda's steady gait down numerous staircases and across multiple bridges. Dante tried to focus on putting one foot in front of the other, but his attention was distracted by the sheer size and scale of his new home. It seemed like a bizarre mix of a castle and a mountain, with every chamber supported by massive pillars that disappeared into untouched rockbed. The decorations were elaborate and surprisingly old-fashioned, and it seemed like Sparda had managed to collect ornaments and furniture from various centuries of human history.

_Demons always did like shiny things_, Dante thought dryly to himself. He was ashamed to feel a wave of homesickness. As beautiful as this place was, he didn't belong in a castle -he belonged in an apartment with pizza, a TV and leaky pipes.

He grew ill at ease as they passed through what he supposed were 'normal' castle chambers into dark, eerily-beautiful caves that lacked any semblance of human touch or activity. Massive violet crystals jutted out of the cavern walls and the caves themselves were carved into jagged, jet-black stone. In his human form, Sparda seemed out of place here, but Dante had no doubt that the demon's true form would have fit in just fine.

Strangely, there was an elevator illuminated by only an oil lamp waiting for them at the end of a particularly long hallway. Dante watched nervously as light from above disappeared as they sank downward. "So deep," he muttered to himself. No hunter liked to be trapped underground -underground belonged to the demons and meant a far smaller chance of escape for anyone trying to reach the surface.

"Father wants to keep Mother safe," Vergil answered, in a quick, defensive sort of way.

Dante gave him an odd look. Vergil seemed so _uncertain_ when referring to the woman that was the mother of them both. The younger twin wasn't sure what to make of it, but before he could question it further, his brother pulled them both forward with a powerful tug of his arms. "We're there."

Still silent, Sparda lead them to a magnificently carved door which was also carved out of stone. He set his gloved hands on a pair of dragon heads that jutted out where the doorknobs should be. There was a familiar crackle of magic and the door creaked open by itself, allowing the first glimpses of the room inside. Though vast, it was mainly undecorated and had been carved straight into the side of the mountain, with white marble and jet black stone mixing in a chaotic mess across its walls. Dressed in a blood red dress she would have loved in life, Eva had been laid carefully in the middle of the chamber, on a beautifully-carved altar that seemed to be made of purple stone.

A strangled sound escaped Dante's lips.

Vergil flinched at the noise and found his brother's weight suddenly gone from his shoulders, leaving him holding nothing but thin hair. Dante surged forward and fell to his knees next ot his mother's body, clutching at her with hands that were shaking so badly that he couldn't grasp a lock of her hair. It didn't take long for his loud, angry sobs to fill the chamber.

Vergil stepped forward in protest, but a strong hand held him back.

Sparda shook his head sadly. "Let him be." This was Dante's moment of mourning, not theirs.

His older son made an annoyed sound and turned to leave. He paused at the doorway. "Father. Spar with me?"

Sparda raised an eyebrow but nodded in consent. With no mother to pamper him, Vergil had grown up with the idea that the only way to deal with anger and frustration was to fight it out. Sparda had left the belief unchallenged; after all, in the demon world, that was often how it was. Still... He couldn't help thinking that Eva would disapprove.

* * *

They sensed Dante's entrance before they heard him. No doubt the wraiths directed him here when he had no more tears to shed and grew curious about where his father and brother had gone.

Looking ashen and exhausted, the young hunter curled up miserably near the door and looked at his surroundings with wary surprise. This chamber was _massive_. Completely devoid of decorations, it had been turned into a battle stadium and still bore marks of massive explosions and blades slicing the walls. Sparda and Vergil occupied the central space with the former clearly dominated the scene, his true form glowing with sheer power as he towered over his son with wings outstretched.

The demon lord could see Vergil hesitating with Dante's intrusion. "_Distractions will leave you dead_," he growled, his true voice echoing around the chamber and rumbling the very ground his sons walked on.

Vergil snapped to attention and readopted his battle position, Yamato tense and posed in his back hand. His front hand held the sword's sheath in front of him, more out of habit than anything. They both knew that an enchanted sheath would do nothing if his father truly meant to hurt him.

"_Good. Shall we continue_?"

On the sidelines, Dante couldn't help but stare. He couldn't remember his father's true form, and while he had to admit that it was not the biggest form he had ever seen, it certainly was one of the most impressive.

Vaguely humanoid but barely so, Sparda looked like the stuff made from nightmares. He had a mouth full of pearly fangs, two slit-like eyes that glowed red and a pair of deadly-looking horns that looked like they could ram through a car with no problem. He had three pairs of insectoid wings that grew out of his upper back and reptilian skin that had scales so large, they formed armored plates over his torso and shoulders. His arms finished in thick claws that could tear through metal and his feet were shaped like a bull's, with canine-like feet that ended in monstrous, two-toed hooves.

_Strange_, Dante thought to himself. He never once questioned what sort of demon species Sparda was, but it certainly wasn't one that he saw wandering around. Distantly, he wondered if his father was the last one of his kind. That wouldn't surprise him in the least, but it made him feel ever sadder.

All thoughts suddenly flew from his mind as Vergil launched himself into battle. Dante had only ever seen himself, Eva and a few other demon hunters fight, and it rarely looked... well, elegant.

Vergil, however, made fighting an art form.

Using the broad, circular movements that reminded Dante of Asian martial arts, the older twin's speed was astounding. He slashed his sword faster than the eye could follow and the ear could hear, turning the very movement into a ball of crackling energy that moved like a thrown explosion. Judgment Cut after Judgment Cut sliced through the air, followed quickly by Vergil's battle cries and the delayed 'whoosh' of him phasing in and out of space. The half-demon's eyes glowed a brilliant blue as enchanted, crystalline swords formed out of thin air around him, shooting themselves at Sparda and shattering on contact.

Dante had never seen anything like it in his life. It never occurred to him that teleportation and creating things out of midair were skills that someone -especially someone with _human_ blood- could learn. He had seen older, deadlier demons pull off such tricks, but to see his own _brother_ performing them... Well, that was just unacceptable to Dante's pride.

His own training had been limited to learning moves from Eva and inventing his own while in the midst of battle. He picked up tricks here and there from older demon hunters, but for the most part, his mother and him worked alone. It was simply too dangerous to associate with many demon hunters, since any one of them could accidentally let slip that the son was Sparda was running around. That left Dante with few opportunities to spar anyone, since his supernatural strength would endanger every human he fought against.

Sparda and Vergil had no such limitations. Their inhuman strength and stamina made their battle every bit as fierce as any demon-hunting mission Dante had ever been on. Every wound inflicted was dully ignored and healed within a few seconds, so the two combatants hardly had to wait before crossing blades once more.

To the untrained eye, it seemed like they were truly trying to kill each other; Sparda landed quite a few blows to his son's flesh, but Vergil was always quick to return the favor. The half-demon seemed to be the aggressor in the fight, teleporting everywhere in a flurry of flashing blades and swinging limbs. His slender katana sang as it sliced through the air -what was its name, Yamato? Dante could vaguely remember it and how much Vergil loved the blade, but to see them both in action was something entirely new.

It soon became apparent that Sparda was very much in control of the situation. He hardly moved from one place to another, blocking Vergil's attacks effortlessly with a large broadsword -Force Edge, Dante recalled- and calling out suggestions over the clashing of their swords. His words were foreign and garbled to Dante's ears, and it took him a second to realize that his father and brother were conversing in the demon tongue.

That made Dante's blood run cold. He should've expected it, he supposed, but he had no love for the language of the devils. He only ever heard it being screamed at him while killing demons and he never associated it with anything good or remotely comprehensible.

Then the real surprise hit.

Trapped in a corner by one of Sparda's attacks, Vergil suddenly disappeared in a flash of blue-white light. Magic crackled through the air and danced off Dante's skin, making the hair on the back of his neck stand on end as he craned his neck to search for any sight of his brother.

A scaly, blue-skinned demon now stood in Vergil's place, hissing at Sparda with sharp fangs and a white head that vaguely resembled that of a cobra. Bat-like wings unfurled from the being's back and flapped weakly as if to emphasize its verbal threat. Though larger and older by far, Sparda respected the cry and stepped back, allowing his nestling a bit of space to catch his breath. Still clutching Yamato in his clawed hand, Vergil leapt back into battle with an unearthly, animalistic roar, the sound echoing off the walls and into Dante's ears with enough strength to make the hunter flinch.

Sparda was prepared for the onslaught and easily caught the smaller demon with one powerful arm, flinging him in the direction of the wall. It was merely a test. Vergil rose to the challenge and righted himself in midair, flaring his wings to slow his speed so he could push off the wall and charge again.

Then... something _changed_ in his eyes. The control over his demon form that Vergil always fought so hard to keep suddenly vaporized the instant he caught the scent of a stranger about, someone made of soft flesh and human blood. His pupil-less eyes dilated with hunger and he turned toward the red-clad human boy in the corner. "_Manfleeeessssh_," he purred, sudden heat and bloodlust ripping through his body.

His father's alarmed cry followed him as he charged. "_VERGIL! He's your __**brother**__!"_

* * *

AN: Before anyone asks, no, I don't think Dante remembers that Vergil was there with him when he slept. Its probably for the better -its not like things can really get much more awkward between the twins. Vergil will definitely remember it though, as well Sparda. It's step one in a long journey to get the rift between the brothers to heal.


	4. The Surprise

**AN**: Three years later, I FINALLY update this story! PAAAARTAY! For all returning readers, I've actually revised Chapter 1 - 3 because I feel like they could've been much better.

Most of this chapter was actually written years ago, but I figured you guys have waited long enough. Enjoy!

* * *

**CHAPTER FOUR**

Dante prided himself on fast reflexes, but his body was still weak from exhaustion and he was unprepared for the sheer strength and speed that Vergil hit him with. The hunter barely had time to leap to his feet before his brother's clawed hands wrapped around his neck and threw him against the wall.

He hit it solidly with a pained _oof_ and felt his head snap backwards with the impact. The shock dazed him and robbed his lungs momentarily of air. Instantly, years of training kicked into hyperdrive and he quickly dropped to the floor, rolled away, and leapt to his feet. Within the blink of an eye, he had Ebony and Ivory aimed straight at Vergil's head. He wasn't even thinking, he was just _reacting_.

Vergil cocked his head at the sight of the guns and snarled with displeasure. His demon side knew a threat when it saw one. "_Foolishhhh_..." he hissed, his scale-covered lips pulling back to reveal long, white fangs.

Adrenaline ran through Dante's veins like liquid fire. He kept his weight on the balls of his feet and scooted back a few steps, trying to keep some distance between them as Vergil approached. The rest of him felt shaky and weak, but his hands were strangely steady. This felt familiar and comforting, aiming guns at a hissing, angry devil.

Of course, just because he was related to said devil didn't meant that he couldn't be _pissed._ "I'll shoot, damn you," the hunter grunted, holding his aim steady, "I swear I will."

"ENOUGH." Sparda's demon vocal chords struggled to pronounce the human tongue, but the sheer rage in his voice was enough to make both twins pause.

Vergil was suddenly lifted off his feet by a clawed hand that wrapped around his neck. The half-demon shrieked and fought against the hold, but Sparda kept him out of arm's reach, speaking to him slowly in the demon tongue. Even Dante could tell that the demon lord was trying to be soothing.

"_He is your brother, Vergil. Not food_."

Vergil hissed back an incoherent response and flashed his fangs. He was angry -no, _very _angry that he was being kept from a potential meal.

Sparda let out a sharp growl from deep in his chest, the terrifying sound vibrating powerfully around the room. Dante flinched. Vergil's fragile-looking wings pressed against his back and he shrank visibly in his father's grip. Even on a primal level, he knew that Sparda was more senior and much more powerful than he was.

"_He is your BROTHER_," Sparda repeated, keeping that low, threatening growl in his voice in case Vergil needed reminding of who was superior around here. He kept his grip tight so his son couldn't teleport or flee. "_Your twin. Sibling. Family."_

Not understanding a single word, Dante cocked his guns at his brother's forehead just in case, but he could see a flicker of sentient activity in those cold, angry eyes.

"_Family_," Vergil repeated, slowly. "_My family. Miiiine." _He gurgled that last word, as if delighted at the prospective of it.

"_Yes, yours. Dante is family. _I_ am family, Vergil. You are safe."_

"_Safe_," Vergil murmured. "_My family... is safe_."

"_Yes. No more fighting. I need you to come back, Vergil. Come back and remember_."

Vergil slowly relaxed in Sparda's claws until he hung limply in his father's grip. His pupil-less eyes were glazed and unfocused, and Sparda could sense that he was fighting with himself inside. "_Come back, Vergil_," he murmured, just to drive the point home. "_Come back_._ I am here._" Carefully, as if handling a fragile doll, the ancient demon set his nestling carefully on his feet but kept his grip tight just in case.

After what seemed like a year but was probably only a few seconds, Dante was relieved to see the beginnings of pale, human skin blooming from under Vergil's blue scales. Jolts of blue electricity crackled through the air and off the half-demon's body. Little by little, more pale skin began to claim the extremities of Vergil's limbs.

Dante didn't dare relax his hold on his guns, but he found himself watching the strangely beautiful transformation with bated breath. _C'mon, Ver. C'mon._

It seemed like his brother's demon side wasn't backing down without a fight. A violent shudder ran through Vergil's body and he suddenly clenched his very-human hands against his head, as if he was in great pain. For a second, he seemed stuck in some nightmarish, half-human, half-demon form. He made a horrific sound then, something that sounded like a mixture of a human groan and a demon's scream.

Fascinated and horrified at the same time, Dante spared a nervous glance at Sparda. His father was incapable of smiling or even making faces in this form, so it was impossible to tell what he was thinking as he watched. Even so, the demon lord quietly shifted his clawed hands to his elder son's shoulders, as if offering silent support.

Dante shifted his attention back to his twin and wondered distantly if this happened every time Vergil transformed. His gut twisted deep inside. Was this the curse of carrying both human and demon blood? Was this something they had to live with for the rest of their lives?

He was distracted from the train of thought when he realized –with some relief- that Vergil's human side as gaining the upper hand.

More and more scales disappeared from the elder twin's limbs, and the brilliant blue light danced across his newly-formed human skin. When the blinding light disappeared, the half-demon had phased fully back into his human self.

Sparda released him immediately and watched as Vergil staggered back towards the wall, sinking down to his knees once he felt the cold stone against his back. His breathing was harsh and painful, and he still clutched his head with one hand, as if fighting back the remnants of his demon side that had struggled to overtake him.

With the tenderness of a creature a quarter his size, Sparda knelt and rested a giant, clawed hand on his son's head.

"Dante."

Dante started and found Sparda's glowing eyes focused on him.

Ah. Right. His guns.

Shakily, he lowered Ebony and Ivory to his side, but his fingers itched to pull the triggers. He felt so tense that he knew he'd blow out Vergil's brains if the other so much as twitched right now. "What _was_ that?" he demanded, "That... _thing_ that he did." Despite his best attempts at hiding it, his voice was strained and shakier than he wanted it to be.

Sparda transformed back into his human self in a glow of vivid, violet light. His gloved, human hand continued to stroke Vergil's hair and it was only then that Dante could see how badly his twin was shaking.

Again, the question raised itself in his mind. _What the hell did Vergil do?_

"Devil trigger," Sparda answered finally, standing and brushing off some imaginary lint off his shoulder. "It's possible for... hybrids that are half or are more than half demon. Controlling the morph, however, is not always easy."

Vergil glanced up from his position on the floor. He knew that was Sparda's way of saying that he wasn't disappointed, but he couldn't help but feel that he had ...failed somehow. He didn't lose control of his devil trigger very often, and he _rarely_ lost control this badly. Phasing back to human from an out-of-control devil trigger required a ton of energy and self-control which usually left him with one hell of a headache afterwards. He seethed inside for showing such weakness in front of his inexperienced twin. "I don't lose control often," he stated quickly, just to prove himself.

Dante glanced at him, then at Sparda, still trying to grasp what they were saying. "I can do it, too?" He wasn't sure whether he sounded hopeful or worried. The sheer amount of _power_ he had sensed from Vergil in his demon form had been incredible. He couldn't help but be jealous of it.

Something flickered in Sparda's eyes and he looked away, regretful that he brought up the topic to begin with. "It is... a complicated process, but yes, you can. If you want."

"I do." Dante's answer was swift and firm. The determination in the boy's eyes was fierce, and for a second, he looked just like Vergil usually did. _I couldn't protect Mom. That... that _thing_ is going to help me become better, faster, stronger._

Sparda looked at him for a long, long time, his glowing eyes revealing nothing. "You are not yet ready. There is much you don't know-"

"I'll learn."

Again, his father drifted off into silence, but Dante could sense the gears turning in his head. Eventually, Sparda turned to Vergil as his eldest son staggered to his feet.

Setting a hand on the boy's shoulder, the demon lord nodded in consent. "Then Vergil will teach you the basics."

* * *

Dante had thought this was going to be easy. He excelled at anything physical –shooting a target, beating the living daylights out of someone or learning a new weapon for the first time. He figured this was probably just a few months of training followed by him soundly whopping Vergil's ass in front of Sparda.

Much to his dismay, the first thing his twin did when their father declared him Dante's 'teacher' was to drag him to what only be described as a private library of some sort. It was a small, dank chamber with dim torchlight, gothic archways and the oldest looking books Dante had ever seen.

The younger twin looked around warily, feeling completely out of his element. "Where the hell did you guys get all these?" He squatted next to a pile of books that looked like they had been sitting there for longer than he had been alive. He blew some dust off the top of the front cover and ran his hand over the binding. _Feels like... scales. _"These books look like they're from the Middle Ages or something."

"They _are_. They span at least two millennia."

"Our old man collects these or something?" Dante picked up the thick tome he had been studying and flipped it open. "This is in the demon tongue. I didn't think demons _made_ books."

Vergil chuckled. It was the closest thing Dante had heard to a laugh from his brother since their reunion. "Foolish brother," he snorted, "Father wrote most of these."

Dante looked up with a startled frown. "What? Why the hell would he-"

"Boredom, Dante," Vergil said with a shrug, taking the book from his brother's hands and placing it carefully into an empty slot on a shelf nearby, "Living for two thousand years in the human world does wonders for your free time."

Dante promptly took the same book out and flipped it open, if only to peeve his brother. "What'd he write in these? There's at least a few hundred books here."

Vergil gaze darkened and he turned to look up at the numerous novels. "Everything and anything he knew. He wrote about every magic spell he knew, ever part of the demon world he's been in, every species of demons he's met."

Dante was silent. The air suddenly felt uncomfortably thick between them, as if he had just been told some great secret. "Why?" he blurted out, "Why spend all the time to- Did he want to pass it to humans?"

"No. It was for himself," Vergil's voice became soft and strangely sad.

Dante suddenly found it reassuring that despite how strict and demon-like his twin acted, there was still a part of him that was noticeably human. _We're not so different after all._

Vergil continued quietly, as if recalling a painful memory. "How would you feel if you were the only one of your kind in a world where you didn't belong? As the years went on, he feared that he would forget where he came from. Even now, he considers the demon world home. Not exactly a safe home, but still home nonetheless."

Dante was quiet. He traced his fingers down the papers. The demon tongue looked like inky chicken scratch when written, but it was strangely beautiful in its own way. Most of it was gibberish to him, but he recognized a phrase that he remembered being taught many years ago.

"Nimrrt," he mumured. He frowned; that didn't sound right. He was SURE Sparda had spoken it earlier in that battle with Vergil. "Nim...mer? Nim-chr?"

"Nimhrt," Vergil corrected absently as he searched through the shelves and pulled a large book into his arms. He flipped through it quickly. "It means brother."

"Us?"

Vergil gave him a perfectly raised eyebrow. "No. Brother, as in singular. Not two brothers. Besides, we weren't born in the Middle Ages."

Dante gave him a confused look, then suddenly dropped the book with a startled _thump_. "Our old man has a brother?"

"Yes, a twin, actually," Vergil matter-of-factly retrieved the book off the ground and brushed it off with care. "Why are you surprised? Demons are commonly born as twins. Just look at us."

"Yeah well, where is he?" The thought of having even _more_ undiscovered family members was making Dante's head spin.

"Not sure. They separated after Father joined with Mundus. Sparda left his everyone he knew back in the demon world." Vergil made a pleased sound as he found another book that he was looking for and also pulled it out of the shelves. "Supposedly our grandmother is still alive somewhere in the demon world as well."

_Parents_, Dante realized with a jolt, _Father had parents, too_. It was utterly bizarre to think of demons as his relatives, but he supposed there was no other way to label them. He noticed that Vergil didn't seemed bothered about it at all and that the word 'grandmother' slipped from his tongue as easily as water.

Yamato's scabbard suddenly smacked him right between the eyes, knocking him violently out of his thoughts. "OW! What was that for?"

"For not paying attention," Vergil answered, still absently searching for books, "Are you normally this slow?"

Dante scowled darkly at him. "Bastard. You caught me off guard, that's all!" He grunted as Vergil handed a stack of four books to him, each heavier than the next. Sighing, the younger twin dumped them on the nearest table, plopped himself in the accompanying chair and set his booted feet on top of the books. "Am I supposed to juggle these or what?"

Vergil came over with one last book and promptly shoved Dante's feet off the table. "First, those are _ancient_ books. Father spent a long time on them, so damage them and I will _end_ you. Second, you know pathetically little about the demon way of fighting, so I would pay attention. Thirdly, you will NOT set your boots on any table within this castle because your shoes are covered in ten layers of dirt and it is a great sign of disrespect."

Dante raised an eyebrow at him. Those were more words than he was used to hearing from his brother in the span of an hour. "What's gotten your panties in a bunch?" he demanded, grinning when he saw his twin flinch at the teasing.

Glaring at him, Vergil pulled up a chair and perched at the edge of it across from Dante. He opened one of the larger books and slid it in front of his twin. "We'll start with the basics. Here's a book Father _didn't _write."

Dante peeked at the cover and immediately began to protest. "What? _Latin_? English is good enough for me, _thanks_. I don't need to learn some fancy-pants dead language."

Vergil gave him a supremely peeved look. "Latin," the older twin stressed, "is the last Divine Language."

Dante narrowed his eyes. All demon hunters knew this, but he never particularly cared. "Yeah, so?"

"What do you know about the demon tongue?"

"It's gibberish."

Vergil's eyes turned glacial, as if he was personally insulted by such a comment.

Scowling, his younger brother shrugged and slumped in his seat. "Uhhhh... They use it for spells. Demon spells."

"Right. Demons rely on the Dark Tongue to perform black magic."

Dante was getting _really_ bored at this point. He wished Vergil had given him a pen or at least one of his weapons, so at least he could fiddle with _something_. "So?"

"_So_, Latin works the same way for humans. It is used to summon white magic, which can repel and heal damage caused by black magic."

_...Oh_. Dante leaned forward, suddenly very interested by this new piece of knowledge. "White magic? Why haven't I heard of this before?"

"Because humans are _idiots_, that's why," Vergil replied dryly. He pulled out another book and opened it, flipping through the pages to show Dante what looked like circles drawn with arrays and other symbols within them. "After Christianity and monotheism took over, very few humans remember how to perform white magic to protect themselves. Modern priests have holy water and some know how to perform diluted spells like exorcism, but most of the dirty work has been passed to demon hunters with weapons. Like us."

Dante took the book and eyed it strangely. "Ver… This is _alchemy_. None of this is supposed to work."

"Only the gold aspect doesn't." Vergil still sounded like he wanted to hit Dante for asking stupid questions. "The ancient civilizations had the right idea, with all their gods and enchanted powers. The Egyptians had quite a few white magic spells involved in their religion, as did the Chinese and the Norse. Even people in the Middle Ages had magic-based sciences -like alchemy- going for them."

Dante traced one of the alchemy circles with his finger. He had to admit that it was beautifully done, even if it did look like something that came out of a sketchy tattoo parlor. "And... what does this have to do with Latin?"

"Nowadays, all the other Divine Languages that once existed -Egyptian, for example- are extinct. The only one that was recorded well enough for us to learn in modern times is Latin, so therefore white magic can only be performed by humans who can speak Latin. Hence, you need to shut your mouth and learn some."

Dante glared at him. "But we're not-"

"-fully human?" Vergil suddenly gave a feral smile, and Dante felt the hair on the back of his neck rise at the sight. It was extremely frightening when his brother smiled like that, he decided. "No, we're not. We're half human and half demon, which means that we can perform both." He leaned back, as if pleased with himself for finally breaking the news.

Dante blinked. Then blinked again. Slowly, a matching grin grew on his face. _Something I can do that Dad can't?_ The possibilities were already bouncing around in his brain.

"This assumes, of course, that you're going to actually study." Vergil's dry voice broke through his thoughts.

Dante sighed and looked at the massive pile of books. _Oh, epic fucking hell..._ He reached for one of the books and winced as he felt its weight in his hands. "Yeah, yeah, I'm doing it, I'm doing it."

* * *

**AN**: My apologies, this wasn't the most interesting of chapters. I just wanted to create a setting with ideas I've wanted to use for a long time (like how lonely Sparda must've been for the 2000 years he spent wandering the human world by himself).

Obviously, I'm making parts of this up as I go. I know next to nothing about ancient languages, btw, but I DO know Latin is technically considered "dead". However, it's simply the easiest 'ancient' language to use for an English story. I honestly did play around with the idea of using an Asian language like Mandarin or an older dialect of it, but that would be way harder to spell out / translate. :/ (Plus, Latin is a bit more Devil May Cry-esque.)

Also, parts of this chapter ARE vaguely based off the Devil May Cry manga background. In the manga, the human world is considered 'light', and the demon world is considered 'dark'. The two can't exist without each other, but (as people have obviously seen in the games) the demon world has tried repeatedly to take over the human world.

And as always, feedback is welcome. : ) Thank you for your patience, everyone!


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